


Bad Things

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Bladder Control, Captured Dean Winchester, Castiel Heals Dean Winchester, Catheter Insertion, Forced Drinking, Gagged Dean Winchester, Gen, Happy Ending, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt Dean Winchester, Non-consensual Urethal Play, Rescue, Sam Winchester to the Rescue, Tied-Up Dean Winchester, Tortured Dean Winchester, Urethral Play, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 06:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A solo hunt goes wrong when Dean is caught by the person responsible for some unexplained deaths in a old hospital.He knows help is coming, but can he survive long enough for it actually to arrive?





	Bad Things

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is put through the wringer in this one, and it is bleak at times.

There was a CCTV blind spot at the back of the staff and visitor cafeteria, just near the dumpsters. It stank (Dean was sure that odd, furtive rustling was probably rats), but the camera had been nudged by a garbage truck from the look of it, and now pointed completely the wrong way.

He stood there, keeping an eye out for anybody coming out the cafeteria doors, and called Sam.

His brother picked up on the first ring. “Hey. You okay?”

Dean looked around him at the grounds. The entire place looked like it had been built in _Silent Hill_. All he needed now was some damn fog to roll in to complete the visual.

“Other than this shit hole being creepy as fuck, yeah.”

Sam chuckled. “You just don’t like hospitals.”

“Bad things happen in hospitals, Sam.” And not just _their_ kind of bad things, either. 

“Show me someplace they don’t,” Sam said. “Any closer to finding out if there is a natural explanation for those deaths?”

Sam had been the one to find the case. People dying, expected in hospitals, but not these particular people who had been due a discharge or were in for minor reasons. But, still recovering from a week long bout of stomach flu, his brother hadn’t been able to leave the bunker.

And with hunters thin on the ground, Cas was still gone on a job of his own, trying to rescue a pair of witch sisters who’d been snatched by a demon for who knew what reason.

So Dean had been forced to go it alone, trying to determine if the sudden spike in unexpected deaths here was just a statistical anomaly (he’d heard that expression a dozen times in the past couple of days and it was starting to piss him off) or the result of something out of the ordinary and yet mundane (he’d heard chatter that hospital borne infections were on the rise despite a cleanliness drive) or something else.

As an orderly, there was pretty much nowhere in the hospital he couldn’t go, but thus far all he knew was that he wouldn’t want himself, or his family, ending up here.

“Half the staff don’t give a damn, the other half are working themselves near to death, and they have the worst insect infestation problem I’ve ever seen.”

He related how moving an old, damp box in one of the storerooms had sent what seemed like a hive of glistening black bodies scurrying in every direction.

Yuck.

He could hear Sam sitting up and taking notice. “Dean, insect infestations can be a sign of-“

“Yeah.” Some demons, or arcane beings, were associated with a sudden rise in bugs or other vermin in the area, but then Sam hadn’t actually seen this place. “It’s also a sign of somebody being scared of using a mop, hot water and some bleach. _I’m_ scared I might catch something in here.”

“Okay, if you think there’s nothing, then get out of there. Come on home. Cas said he’ll be back in another day or so.”

“He find those two witches?”

There was silence, and Dean kicked at the side of one of the dumpsters. It was bad that they hadn’t been able to find those women, but Dean knew Cas would need them when he came home.

Even when it wasn’t his fault, he blamed himself for anything that went south, and this wouldn’t be an exception.

No, he was winding this up tonight. It was a...a _statistical anomaly_ and no justification to keep him away from his family any longer.

“I’m quitting,” he told Sam. “I don’t think pushing other people’s shitty sheets down to the laundry is what I want to do with my life.”

He could hear the relief in Sam’s voice. This past few months, the urge to stay together had been stronger than ever, to the point where things only seemed right when the three of them had each other in sight, in reach, and Dean didn’t know if that was some kind of portent or if they were just tired of being apart.

He needed his family, and they needed him, and maybe….Maybe it was time they put Sam’s plan into action, the one they’d discussed during late night whispered discussions over beer, where they were just talking, and even Cas let himself get a little tipsy.

To train new hunters. To be a hub of sorts, like Bobby’s house used to be, stepping in only when things got rough.

They’d earned it, and Dean found a longing in him for his family to be safe and in one place that it was getting harder and harder to deny.

“Okay. We’ll be here.”

Dean hung up, and pushed back through the door into the corridor that led through the kitchens and back to the cafeteria.

This late, the catering staff had all gone home, but the lights stayed on since it also led to a fire exit.

Not much of one; Dean had to shove the door hard to get it to open and close.

But now the light was off, and that put him on edge.

He had a gun, small calibre, tucked carefully into a hip holster, and easily concealed under the loose blue orderly’s uniform.

He drew it, kept it palmed so that if somebody was down here who wasn’t up to no good, he wouldn’t have to explain why a guy hired to mop the floors was carrying a weapon.

Moving slow, he made it halfway down the hall before he heard an odd movement behind him, and swung around to see what it was.

A fat rat was scurrying along the floor, keeping tucked in against the wall, and it stopped and stared at Dean with black, beady eyes.

Dean felt his gorge rise. Fuck, even in the cafeteria. Yeah, he was out of here now, back home to where the only things meandering into his kitchen were a hungry moose and an angel who liked to pick at things in the hope of finding something that tasted like food and not molecules.

He turned around again, and then there was something in front of him, and pain exploded in his head, and then he was down.

++

When he woke up, it was to the bitter chemical taste of something in his mouth, and rope biting into his wrists.

He was lying on a bed, dropped so he was no more than a foot and change from the floor, and there were shelves stacked with mildewed boxes, paper records sticking out of the top, lining the walls.

Someone was leaning against the door, shadowed, the only light coming from a dull flickering overhead bulb that just made it harder for Dean’s eyes to get used to the low level of illumination.

He tried to speak, and that helped him figure out where the nasty taste was coming from. Something was stuffed in mouth, a cloth or something, and when he reached up he felt duct tape sealing it in there.

Oh, yeah, he was in trouble.

“A hunter, then,” a voice said. He stiffened as the figure against the door stepped into the light.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the guy he saw probably wasn’t it. He was a little under five eight, skinny, an almost bookish appearance to him, right down to the thick glasses he took off and polished and held up to that dull light.

Stereotypical librarian, and that told Dean he was probably anything but. It was too...checkmarked, like he had a cover he was making sure he pulled off.

That, and despite his build he’d not only got the drop on Dean, but knocked him out, and either dragged or carried him here.

“I guess I should have expected one of you to come nosying around. But there’s so few of you these days, it’s been like a non stop party.

“On the plus side, it means I probably don’t have to worry that anyone will come looking for you. Since my shift’s over, and I have two days off now, I know no one’s going to come looking for me.”

Dean’s heart sank. He was a day’s drive from the bunker, and it wasn’t unheard of for either he or Sam to just push through a long trip like that without checking in, especially if it was post-job and they both knew the other was okay.

And Cas...Cas didn’t need sleep or toilet breaks or refreshments, so he could just drive until he needed gas.

It might be a while before Sam realised something was wrong.

Cas, though…. If Cas had his ears on, Dean could tell him and he could tell Sam who was certainly a lot closer to Dean’s location.

He sent out a desperate mental 911, and hoped that Cas was already relaying it to Sam and Sam was saddling up or at least sending some help that might be closer, if any of the other hunters they were training were in his neck of the woods.

Help might still be a while, though, and this guy, whatever he was, was now looking at him eagerly.

“That said, I don’t feel like waiting. I’ll probably be moving on after you, new name, new job, new toys to play with. So I guess I’ll have a lot of fun with you.”

++

Those first few hours were a pain filled blur. Dean didn’t remember too much, slipping under when his body was taking too much abuse, only for the fucker who had him to inflict more, a sharp agonising wake up call, that brought Dean screaming back to full awareness.

But whatever room they were in must have been far from a public area, because even though Dean made enough noise to have the souls trapped in Hell grouching about it, nobody came.

The only company Dean had to share his suffering with was the person inflicting it.

He was inventive, given the limited tools at his disposal, Dean had to give him that.

But then he seemed to recognise a break was called for, and he left, locking the room door behind him.

Dean would have loved to have taken advantage, but his ankle was a purple swollen mess by then, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think it’d hold his weight.

It wasn’t broken, he was sure, but he wouldn’t be walking anywhere until Cas delivered some healing mojo.

Hopefully, though, he wouldn’t have much more damage to heal. Because by now, he hoped, someone would be well on the way to coming for him.

Then he heard the door unlock, and the bastard was back. He had a plain black hold-all in his hand, and he closed the door behind him, and re-locked it.

“I think you’ll like this one,” he said.

Dean doubted it; he hadn’t liked anything the guy had done so far.

He watched, warily, as the guy put the bag down and started to unpack the contents.

Five bottles of water. A bottle of iodine. A pair of surgical scissors, the type for cutting through clothes. A sealed pack that looked like it contained a length of tubing. A clamp.

Fuck.

Despite the pain, Dean tried to push back, away, his panic overwhelming his brain that wanted to know where he was going to go? Even if he tumbled off the bed, he couldn’t walk, and the whatever-he-was holding him here was between him and the door.

Not to mention he was bound and unlikely to win a fight with his captor.

The guy shook his head, chuckling, as if Dean was kind of amusing the way kids are when they misbehaved but were just too darn cute to be mad at or to reprimand.

“Honestly,” he said. “I don’t mind if you fight. It won’t make a difference, and I kind of like it. So get it out of your system.”

Dean slumped down onto the bed, exhausted and realising he didn’t want to give this bastard the satisfaction.

And anyway, he was right. 

It didn’t make a difference.

++

The room felt a lot colder without his pants on, but maybe it was also what was being done to him.

Dean moaned in pain as the tube was eased into his urethra, feeling every damn inch, worse even than the sting of the iodine (which he was sure the guy had daubed him with just to increase his discomfort; it wasn’t like he expected the bastard to let him live through this).

“It’s not pleasant, I know,” he said, patting Dean’s stomach. “But...Yes, there we are. Oh, and just to make sure we don’t have a mess….”

He applied the clamp, squeezing it tight shut around the catheter, a little too close to Dean’s dick for comfort.

“Now. I bet you’re thirsty. I’m going to take off the gag and you can have something to drink. And I don’t really want you crying out or anything foolish like that. Not that anyone will hear you, but it’s a small room and too much noise will be uncomfortable.”

Dean glared at him, but the tape was torn from his face anyway, and then the guy grabbed an edge of the old rag that was stuffed into his mouth and pulled it out, torturously slow.

Dean gagged and coughed; his mouth felt sandpaper rough, and those bottles of water looked amazing, but he knew it was part of this sadistic game being played, so he turned his head away.

“Oh, come on,” the guy said. “Look, you need fluids and to be honest, you’re going to drink every one of these bottles whether you want to or not. Don’t make this any harder for yourself than it needs to be, because believe me: it is going to get hard.”

Dean clamped his jaw shut, trying to figure out how long he’d been down there now, how long it might be before help came, how long he could hold out, and not take damage so serious that it might be too late for Cas to save him.

But he suspected that when he stopped amusing this guy, it’d only end one way. He was alive because he was a toy to play with; fun to hurt, and Dean wondered how he’d made those other people die in a satisfying way when he didn’t have the benefit of abandoned store rooms and isolated victims.

The guy uncapped one of the bottles and held it out to him.

“Last chance.”

Dean shook his head, and it all went very quick then. 

The guy shoved him flat, hard enough to near knock the air out of him, but Dean managed to keep his mouth shut.

He fought as well as he could, but with bound hands and a fucking tube up in him, he was beleaguered, and then his nose was being pinched shut.

The guy put a knee across Dean’s stomach, stopping him trying to buck him off and held on.

Dean knew he couldn’t wait him out. The guy was staring down at him calmly, watching him fight for air, the bottle held in the other hand.

But he held on as long as he could, and the moment he’d reached the point it was breathe or pass out, he opened his mouth and sucked in air.

Or tried to. His mouth was suddenly filled with water, it spilling over and down his cheeks and his neck.

Then a hand under his jaw forced it shut and clamped over his mouth. 

Dean gurgled through the water, thrashing, but he couldn’t get the guy off.

“You want to breathe, then swallow,” he said. “I’ll let you get some air if you do as I say.”

Great. First smothering, now drowning, and Dean gave in. There was no choice. Better alive and hurt for when rescue came, and then dead and abandoned here for somebody to find.

He swallowed, and then the hands were gone and he could breathe again.

The guy cupped the back of his head, helping him sit up a little so breathing was easier, but also so he could drink now.

He held up the bottle, and put it back to Dean’s lips.

“I literally have all night,” he said. “Do you want to keep doing this the hard way?”

Dean let him tip the water into his mouth, grateful this time he was allowed to swallow in his own time, until it was empty.

He groaned when the guy picked up the next one, and took off the lid.

“You’ll probably start to feel sick around number four,” he said. “I think we’ll leave the gag off. Don’t want you choking on your own vomit. Not yet.”

++

He wasn’t wrong about the nausea. Dean’s stomach hurt, cramping up as his full bladder started to press on what seemed like everything.

He was cold, sweating, and then puking over the side of the bed.

The guy didn’t seem to mind that; he shook his head, an expression of mock sympathy on his face, and then he came around to crouch by Dean’s other side.

“Not your fault,” he said, and then Dean screamed as he pressed down on his bladder.

He fell back, writhing, trying desperately to push the guy’s hand away, but it was trying to shift rock and this, Dean realised, was how he was going to die.

His bladder would split open and he’d either bleed out internally or die of the infection.

Here, in this cramped little room and probably by himself.

He didn’t see the bastard hurting him sticking around long enough to watch him finally check out.

The pain was enough that he didn’t hear the door crashing open, or register that he was no longer being crushed beneath that hand.

The gun shots, though; those he heard, and they snapped his attention forward, to where Sam was standing over him, face stricken with horror.

The guy, he was lying on the floor, dead, and Dean glanced from the body to his brother, and sagged back onto the bed.

“Sight for sore fucking eyes, Sammy,” he moaned. He raised his hands, only noticing for the first time that his wrists were a bloody mess. “Get me out of this.”

“Dean,” Sam started, gesturing to the tube up his brother’s dick.

Dean shook his head. Hell, no. “I’ll...Just untie me, okay? So we can get the fuck out of here.”

Sam did, and turned away long enough for Dean to ease the tube out of himself. There was some blood, which worried him, but since he’d been forced to drink a shit ton of water, which was left with nowhere to go, while somebody squished his bladder like a stress ball, he wasn’t surprised.

Sam ended up having to carry him to the car, settling him in the back, then went back for the body.

They could get rid of it later. For now, all Dean wanted was to go home.

++

He was pissing blood by the time they reached the bunker, and Sam got him into bed.

He’d argued for the infirmary, but Dean wanted none of it. It wasn’t like there was anything Sammy could do other than offer him pain relief and a hot water bottle to ease the aches in his abdomen.

Cas would be home in a few hours, and Dean could hold on until then. If he got worse meantime, there was a hospital on the outskirts, but Dean had decided he’d have to be half dead before letting Sam take him there.

He’d had enough of hospitals.

The only healing he wanted now was from their angel.

Still, it felt good to have Sam there, even if his little brother shot him a worried look each time Dean moved, which sent sharp aches through his lower half.

“What do you think he was,” Sam said, eventually by way of distraction when it became clear the series he’d put on his laptop wasn’t doing the job as well as he’d hoped.

Dean almost shrugged. “No idea. He wasn’t feeding, just got some sick kick out of torturing, I guess. Seeing people suffer and knowing he’d caused it. Strong fucker, though.”

But Sam had put him down with ordinary bullets, so maybe they’d never know.

It was over with, now, anyway, so it probably didn’t matter.

“Was Cas okay when you spoke to him?”

Sam had called to let the angel know he had Dean, and to get home as fast as he could. They reckoned, now, he’d show up anytime, and Dean was beyond grateful that Cas had chosen to keep his angel channels open just for the purpose of having an alternative method for Dean and Sam to contact him in an emergency.

It meant having to either listen to the remaining angels talking shit about him, probably being even more venomous since they knew he was listening, or being aware there was less chatter than before, and on some level beating himself up as to _why_.

But they both knew there was nothing Cas wouldn’t do for them, wouldn’t endure.

Dean hoped Cas knew the same was true of them for him. Which was why, as soon as their angel was home, and he was healed, they were going to make sure Cas was okay.

Because Dean hadn’t forgotten what had happened, and that their angel would need them.

He was about to ask Sam to find them something else to watch when they heard the bunker door close and hurried footsteps approaching their room.

Cas was there a few moments later, looking panicked, until he was able to see for himself they were both alive and though Dean was hurt, he wasn’t lost to them.

“I’m okay,” Dean said, but Cas had crossed the room in a couple of wide strides, and gently touched Dean’s shoulder.

A burst of warmth rolled through him and Dean gave a long moan of relief as the pain stopped. Just...was gone, and his whole body seemed to unravel, the tension of the past few hours gone with the pain.

“Now you’re okay,” Cas said, and glanced to Sam in case he too was hurt.

Sam shook his head. “Glad you’re home, Cas.”


End file.
